


Fracture my spine and swear that you're mine

by LackingBinary



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, unhealthy relationship tags mostly for the second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LackingBinary/pseuds/LackingBinary
Summary: Millions of years of war will change a mech, rarely for the better. Nobody's changed more than Megatron, and nobody knows it better than Starscream.





	1. A king and his prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sweats
> 
> Addendum: None of the non-con warnings are for this chapter. So if, for some reason, you're looking for Healthy megastar, this is pretty close to it.

People often forgot that, in the beginning, Megatron had been a poet. That he had wielded words before he had ever been forced to hold a gun, that creation came more naturally to him than devastation. He had been shaped, unwitting, into a weapon to topple empires. 

History remembered him as a tyrant, and rightly so. It was far easier to reconcile destruction with a warlord than an author. But Starscream remembered the mech he had once been, before everything had gone to slag.

\---

It was dark in the arena, all the crew and spectators having left after the main event. The poor saps on the losing side had been scraped off the floor, though their spilled energon remained. Even after the arena had been dissembled, the stains would linger as a testament to the sparks extinguished here.

A noise drew his attention to a dark corner of the room, where a shadowed figure was scribbling furiously on a holopad. The light thrown out by the pad was faint, only bright enough to illuminate the striking red lines that accentuated his helm and the purple badge that swung freely from his neck. 

He looked up as Starscream approached, setting the pen aside. 

“Oh, by no means stop on my account,” Starscream demurred, “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing your thought process.”

“Your mere presence disturbs my thought processes, Starscream,” Megatron said, but he was smiling as he said the words and Starscream felt disinclined to take them to spark. 

Instead, he sidled around Megatron to take a look at the pad he was holding. As he moved, he talked. He was always talking, in fact; it was what he did best. 

“Reports indicate that more Decepticons join the cause every day, and that the Senate grows ever more wary of our influence over the downtrodden masses.” Megatron shifted the pad’s screen out of Starscream’s line of sight, hiding its contents before he could make out anything. Damn.

“Excellent. Every solar cycle brings us closer to the moment of our triumph.”

“Indeed. And none will be more pleased than I on the dawn of that victory.”

“Oh?” Megatron said, that grin still lingering on his lips. 

“Of course,” Starscream said, stepping closer. “My brothers and I work tirelessly on your behalf, in the hope that we will receive our just due once everything settles.”

Something incomprehensible flickered in Megatron’s optics. “I will ensure that you are given everything you deserve, Starscream.”

“I’m glad,” Starscream murmured, reaching out a talon and tracing it along one of Megatron’s transformation seams. It might’ve looked like a casual gesture, but it was presumptuous enough to cost Starscream his life if Megatron took exception to the act. The mech merely quirked an optic at him. 

“Have your standards sunk so low? This place is hardly luxurious.”

“Ah, but you’re here. That’s all the luxury a simple mech such as myself requires, my _lord_.” He purposefully deepened his voice around the title, so that it was almost a growl.

“Nothing about you is simple,” Megatron said, but he turned off the pad screen and set it to the side. 

It was Starscream’s turn to grin, a sharp expression that bared the pointed tips of his dentae. Everything about him was pointed and evidently made for speed, from his talons to his wingtips, in direct counterpoint to Megatron’s bulky frame. Despite being rather similar in stature, Starscream always felt insubstantial when he was pressed against Megatron’s solid frame. Though, by that point, he was usually engaged in activities that were more absorbing than ruminating about their respective shapes. 

Starscream ran his glossa over his lips, suddenly eager. If Megatron noticed the shift he didn’t show it, merely appraising Starscream with that ineffable look he often wore. 

Draping himself across Megatron’s shoulders, Starscream ran his talons lightly along the other mech’s plating. He traced a large rent in the metal, a scar from some past enemy. With all the gladiator fights these cycles, he could never seem to keep up with the damage Megatron’s frame accumulated. 

When all this had blown over, he thought, he’d make sure Megatron was always polished until he shone. It was only right, after all, for a victor to look the part. 

He was dragged from his thoughts by the sensation of servos against his wings. Megatron didn’t grip tightly, but rather rubbed his palms along the surface, eliciting a low groan from Starscream. 

Starscream nipped at Megatron’s neck cabling, tasting a few drops of energon against his glossa. Megatron growled, shoving a leg between Starscream’s thighs. 

Starscream ground his pelvic array against the sturdy limb, his vents kicking on as heat rolled through his frame. He heard the telltale _click_ of Megatron’s own vents a moment later, felt the thrum of his powerful engine vibrating in his struts. 

The vibration traveled to his interface panels, which pinged a request to open. He granted it, feeling the paneling slide back to expose his valve and spike housing. Megatron chuckled. 

“Eager today, are we?”

“You know how it is,” he said, sliding his array against Megatron’s leg, “everything’s fast with a seeker.” His valve left a faint trail of lubricant in its wake. 

Starscream scraped his talons down Megatron’s chest, leaving faint scratches in the finish. They would be indistinguishable from the multitude of other scars, but Starscream felt some indefinable pleasure at leaving his mark. 

His talons drifted lower, toying with the seams around Megatron’s interface array. 

“You gonna open this for me?” He asked, tapping the panel. 

“I don’t know that you’ve earned that yet,” Megatron rumbled, and the promise in those words sent a bolt of fire straight to Starscream’s array. A flow of lubricant gushed from his valve, dripping obscenely down Megatron’s thigh. 

Megatron glanced down, his hands ceasing their motion across his wings. Starscream moaned at the loss of sensation, fluttering his wings against Megatron’s unmoving palms. 

Then Megatron’s hands were moving again, a servo curling itself into Starscream’s achingly empty valve. 

“ _More_ ,” he hissed, grinding down, because _frag_ that wasn’t nearly enough to fill him. Megatron complied, adding another servo. His other hand pressed against Starscream’s spinal strut, blunt servos pressing shallow dents into the metal. Starscream didn’t care, his processor fully occupied by the input from his valve sensors. 

Megatron’s servos buried themselves in the metalmesh of Starscream’s valve, tracing its contours as he activated each cluster of nodes in turn. Starscream thrust against him jerkily, aching for _more, harder, faster._

Megatron’s thumb circled his anterior node, pressing against it in time with his thrusting servos, and sparks danced across Starscream’s vision. 

“Primus, Megatron,” he moaned, voice-half eaten by static. His spike had pressurized between them, leaking heavily against his chest. 

He heard the _click_ of Megatron’s panels retracting, and then the servos were suddenly gone from his valve. He whined at the loss, vocalizer cycling uselessly as he tried to find the words to demand their return. 

There was a wet heat against his valve entrance, and then Megatron’s spike was pressing into him, its width stretching him with a sensation that was almost sharp enough to be pain. He panted, vents blasting superheated air against Megatron’s chest.

Megatron’s hips rested against Starscream’s as his spike pushed all the way in, every sensor in Starscream’s valve alive with anticipation. 

“ _Move_ , frag you!” Starscream gasped, hips moving in desperate little circles. 

And move Megatron did, pulling his spike almost all the way out before slamming in with a force that rattled every servo in Starscream’s body. His vocalizer keened, his frame sparking with charge.

Megatron set a punishing rhythm, the impact of their hips sure to leave dents that they would have to explain. But that was a later problem; in this moment there was nothing but the sharp clash of metal-on-metal and their harsh ventilations, overtaxed fans trying to dispel ever-rising temperatures.

Starscream’s hands danced across Megatron’s plating, scratching faint lines that left sparks arcing in their wake. Megatron’s hands crushed Starscream against him, driving his spike ever deeper into Starscream’s eager valve. 

Each thrust was a supernova, a rush of heat surging through his frame and fading just in time for the next wave. 

Without warning, Megatron stiffened against him, his spike pulsing as it spilled transfluid into Starscream’s valve. His valve cycled down around Megatron, pulling a static-filled moan from the other mech’s vocalizer. 

Starscream followed Megatron into overload, molten pleasure igniting his frame as sparks leapt between them. He screamed, a sound that began as Megatron’s name and devolved into something unintelligible and ragged with emotion.

He collapsed against Megatron, struts shaking. The solid mech supported him easily, the arms around his waist loosening until they were almost an embrace rather than a pinioning force. 

“Megatron,” Starscream said, once he could force words from his vocalizer again.

“Hm?” Megatron hummed, resting his helm against Starscream’s. He seemed as well-composed as ever, the fragger. 

“Would you… take off your helm? Just this once?” 

Megatron stiffened against him, seeming to consider the request for a long moment. Then he ex-vented slowly, raising a hand to his helm. “Just for you, my star,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against Starscream’s forehead.

Then he triggered the release on his helm, and Starscream watched with thinly-veiled awe as his sensor crests unfurled themselves. He’d seen them before, one of the few who could claim that privilege, but they always provoked the same reaction. 

They were delicate where everything else about Megatron was bulky, and undeniably beautiful. Starscream raised a hand to run a talon across the yellow glyphs that marked Megatron as a construction-class mech, careful not to let the sharp digit scrape the sensitive panelling. 

“It’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful,” he found himself saying. Primus, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He had to control himself better than that.

But Megatron just chuckled, hand curling around the back of Starscream’s neck so that he was cradling his head. “You’re one to talk of beauty,” he said, pressing their lips together in a kiss that held no portent of future arousal, meant nothing more than the trust between two mechs. 

They would win this war, Starscream was confident. All this unseemly violence would come to a close soon enough, the functionists stymied by the immovable force of Megatron’s will. Yes, he thought sleepily, pressing himself against the warmth of Megatron’s chest, this would all be over soon.


	2. Flare, flicker, fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> buckle in kids, it's gonna get rough 
> 
> Addendum: this is really, definitively, not consensual. you really don't consent to someone who'll probably kill you if you say no.
> 
> edit: slightly edited to make more sense b/c i did, indeed, fuck up a few things relating to continuity

Starscream woke to a HUD flashing with system errors, warning him that he was on the brink of critical system failure. For an odd moment, just before waking, he had felt… safe, enveloped in a comforting warmth. The thought was banished instantly as he looked around at his dismal surroundings. 

Even turning his head sent a bolt of pain through his sensor net and he whimpered, afraid to move for fear of causing more damage. His memory came back to him in pieces: Megatron, waking from what should have been a fatal slumber; Megatron, furious at Starscream’s failure to lead the Decepticons to anything but ruin in his absence. 

After that, everything was only jagged shards of pain. Megatron, apparently possessed of a jet form now, chasing him through the cosmos on a desperate quest for vengeance. Except that it hadn’t even been vengeance, had it? If it had, Megatron would’ve killed him. 

No, Megatron wanted to humiliate him. He wanted to break him down to his most component parts and leave him like that, strung out and aching, unable even to take solace in the empty mercy of death. 

Starscream offlined his optics, intake clenching. If there was anything in his tanks, he was sure that he would have purged it. Megatron was _back_. Of all his failures, that one weighed most heavily on him. 

He was so fragging _tired_ of this fear. He was tired of looking over his wing to see Megatron behind him, bearing that grin that promised pain, promised to twist and snap Starscream’s struts like brittle energon candies. 

He felt when Megatron entered the room. Millions of years of proximity had given him an intimate sense of the other mech, a visceral knowledge of his approach. His internal mechanisms clenched tightly, sending another wave of pain through him. 

“Star _scream_ , there you are,” Megatron purred, his voice dark as a starless sky. It threatened to swallow him, to overwhelm his higher processes with primal fear. 

Starscream fought back the panic with monumental effort. “Yes, Lord Megatron?” He said, in the dullest voice he could manage. Megatron _despised_ apathy, but perhaps he would decide that he had finally broken his toy and leave in search of a better one. 

No such luck, it seemed. Megatron _tsk_ ed unhappily, circling around so that he was in Starscream’s field of view. The seams of his new form glowed purple in the dim light as he leaned over Starscream, his face twisted into a mockery of a concerned frown. 

“Not so rebellious now, are we?” He said, his claw scoring a line down Starscream’s mangled armor. Starscream hardly felt it, his pain receptors overwhelmed from the earlier fight. He hoped the numbness continued. It would help with what was to come.

“Get up, Starscream. The floor is no place for my faithful Second,” he snapped. Starscream tried to push himself up, but his HUD flashed an urgent warning as he put pressure on a snapped strut and he collapsed back to the floor with a pained whine, one of his legs twisted at an unnatural angle.

“What am I going to _do_ with you,” Megatron sighed, gathering Starscream into his arms effortlessly. He whimpered slightly as broken components jostled, and he hoped desperately that Megatron hadn’t noticed.

As Megatron strode through the halls, he felt the eyes of the other Decepticons on them. Some flinched and turned away, still having enough empathy to feel sorry for their erstwhile leader. Others grinned and bared pointed dentae, clearly wishing they could bear witness to the spectacle. 

Both reactions made his tanks churn, and he offlined his optics. He didn’t want their pity, nor their lust. He had wanted only to lead them, to make himself a figure of glory to rival Megatron, as the other mech had always promised. _I will ensure that you are given everything you deserve_ , Megatron had said, all those cycles ago. Was this what he deserved, his just reward for millions of years of scheming?

A door slid open and Starscream onlined his optics, realizing with a start that they were in his own quarters. 

“You’ll forgive my presumption, I’m sure,” Megatron said. “Since I was presumed offline, nobody thought to give me quarters of my own. I suppose yours will have to do.”

Megatron surveyed his surroundings with distaste, the setting clearly striking him as a poor stage for his grandstanding. 

Megatron settled on his berth, Starscream still clutched in his arms. It was almost an embrace, with his head balanced against Megatron’s chest. For a fleeting moment, he ached for the Megatron of the past, the one he thought of as _his_ Megatron. 

Talons scraped across his plating with just enough force to leave marks, dipping in and out of transformations seams with practiced ease. Starscream shivered, his pleasure sensors still mostly online

A wash of shame shot through him, hot and sharp. Primus, but he didn’t want to overload at Megatron’s hand after the other mech had beaten him half to death. He could’ve at least had the good graces to kill him, instead of dragging his abused frame back to berth for a frag. 

“My Starscream,” Megatron rumbled, and the tone of his voice was almost affectionate. “You’ve displeased me terribly. But you’re going to make up for it, aren’t you?

“Y-yes, Lord Megatron,” Starscream rasped, trying to affect the tone of servility that he knew Megatron wanted to hear. He must’ve succeeded well enough, because Megatron smiled and stroked his head with one large, taloned hand. 

The other hand crept down to his array, palm pressing against the panels. Starscream fought back a surge of fear, turning his head to the side and opening his panels to Megatron’s hand. This would all be over faster if he acquiesced. 

Servos plunged into the mesh of his valve, scraping against sensitive nodes. He canted his hips into the touch, shame burning through him. He felt the memory of gentler hands, servotips not yet spiked to inflict harm.

Then Megatron bit down on his wing, and his illusions shattered. The wing had been fractured in the fight, and Megatron’s touch was torturous. Pain seared through his circuits, his intake seizing as he struggled to keep still. 

Megatron took the tensions as a mark of arousal, redoubling his efforts. Starscream whined, pleasure and pain warring through his systems. A wayward talon scraped his anterior node and he arched off Megatron’s chest, hands clutching desperately at his thighs. 

His cooling systems tried to online themselves, emitting a harsh mechanical scream as some component abruptly failed. Megatron frowned.

“Keep those offline,” he growled, and Starscream did, even though he could feel the heat threatening to melt his internals. Because in a contest between system failure and Megatron’s displeasure, Megatron would win every time. 

Megatron pulled his servos from Starscream’s valve, planting his hands on Starscream’s hips. Starscream’s world tilted as Megatron flipped him over effortlessly. Starscream's back was braced against the berth, Megatron leaning over him. 

His red optics blazed, sparks dancing outward across his helm. Even after everything, Starscream had to admit that Megatron was beautiful. He buried his face in Megatron’s neck so that he didn’t have to look at that visage, both familiar and strange. 

Megatron lifted Starscream’s hips slightly, sliding his spike into the unprotesting mech. Starscream’s valve clenched around the intrusion, and he jerked up against Megatron instinctively. He could hardly think, his processor so fogged by heat and pain that he almost forgot to be afraid. Hazily, he noted that whoever had reformatted Megatron this time had given him an even larger spike, the fragger. 

Megatron pounded into him, his thrusts lifting both of their hips off the berth. Starscream’s frame was on fire, each rhythmic jolt sending liquid fire shooting through his energon lines. His broken strut screamed, protesting the motion. 

Megatron’s engine thrummed against him, its vibrations battering his crumpled form. Vents blew heated air across his plating, doing nothing to fight the agony in his core. His spark skipped a beat, fluttering wildly as it tried to sustain him. He almost hoped that it would fail. 

The rhythmic thrusts shifted into something more erratic, desperate. Starscream tensed, bracing for the inevitable onslaught. 

Megatron overloaded with a shout, his talons puncturing Starscream’s chest plating as he shook with pleasure. He felt the tips graze across his spark chamber, and he shivered violently with revulsion and poorly-concealed fear. 

Optics still sparking, Megatron looked down at Starscream. Any hope he’d harbored that Megatron would be satisfied and leave vanished. He was not to be granted that reprieve today.

“You’ve been so good, Starscream,” Megatron whispered, mouthing at Starscream’s neck cables. His spike shifted uncomfortably in Starscream’s valve, drawing a quiet moan from his vocalizer. Megatron paused in his ministrations, glancing down at their still-joined frames. 

Then, with a speed his bulky frame should not have possessed, he withdrew his spike and settled between Starscream’s thighs. His ventilations ghosted across superheated metal, an added agony rather than a relief. 

Megatron plunged his glossa into Starscream’s valve, licking across oversensitized nodes. Starscream _writhed_ , his cooling system manually overriding his commands and clicking on. The high-pitched keening filled the room again, but Megatron seemed too absorbed in his task to reprimand him for it. Thank Primus for the small victories.

Charge crackled beneath his armor, sparking from seams and joints. He hated this, hated Megatron, but it had been _so long_. He hadn’t even self-serviced, since it was a vulnerability any of ‘his’ Decepticons would jump at the chance to exploit. 

But here, now, he was nothing _but_ vulnerability, helpless even to move as Megatron pinned him to the berth with a single hand, glossa wreaking havoc on Starscream’s dripping valve. His dentae nipped at his anterior node, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting up his spinal strut. He arched, a static-filled vocalization joining the broken scream of his fans. 

He overloaded harder than he had in years, his valve cycling down around Megatron’s glossa. His talons tore slivers from the berth, because even like this he wasn’t stupid enough to place them anywhere near Megatron’s pristine new armor. Energon pulsed from his wounds in time with his sparkbeat, pain edging into the rush of pleasure. 

Starscream collapsed back against the berth, optics dim and struts limp. As the charge faded, it was replaced by the dull throb of his mangled frame. 

Megatron’s face swam into view above him, his expression unreadable. He pressed swollen lips to Starscream’s own, and Starscream could taste his own lubricant and energon in the kiss. 

It would be alright to die like this, he thought.

“You’re mine, Starscream,” Megatron whispered against his mouth.

“Always, Lord Megatron,” Starscream whispered back, feeling his spark throb at the truth in those words.


End file.
